


Goldballs!

by KittyViolet



Category: New Mutants (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Dildos, F/F, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sound Effects, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyViolet/pseuds/KittyViolet
Summary: “Will you put your hand right there again,” Kitty asks, “when we’ve got some more privacy? But, you know, first we deal with the gold balls."
Relationships: Kitty Pryde/Illyana Rasputin
Kudos: 16





	Goldballs!

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place between Uncanny X-Men (2013) 14 and 15.

Scene: the New Xavier School. A lot of narrow cramped levels, most of them underground.

Poink!

“Is that what I thought it was?”

“Depends, Ilya,” Kitty says. “What did you think it was?”

“The world’s most annoying hailstorm.”

“Daimon Hellstrom doesn’t live anywhere near here, although I have heard that he is annoying. From you.”

“Katya. No. Hailstorm.”

“I thought you liked them. You got me to like them. They’re, like, one of your two metal bands that I actually like. Remember when we were in Philadelphia and people kept mistaking you for Lzzy?”

“Katya. Stop. Actual. Hail. Can’t you hear it?”

“Oh. That. Guess I can go investigate.”

Poink! Out of nowhere. “That’s not hail.”

And Kitty Pryde (later Kate, but she’s Kitty right now) gets up from the uncomfortable metal chair at her uncomfortable metal desk where she’s been writing uncomfortable codes, because everything is uncomfortable at the New Xavier School except mutants’ love for other mutants, and heads to the metal ladder that connects this office space to the one above, and the one above to the new student dorms. 

It’s a lot like life on Utopia, and even more like living in a big naval vessel, except for the part where every tenth sailor can read your mind. Why did she leave the Jean Grey School? Lots of reasons, but one of them’s standing behind her right now, wearing impractical knee boots and a hot, tight-fitting, musculature-emphasizing top with an inexplicable window right in the center. Sometimes Kitty wants to stop time just to place her hand right there, on the costume’s window, and breathe in slowly and feel the closeness to someone she missed for so long.

But there’s work to do, and a poink! to investigate. Kitty leaves her enormous thermos of iced tea and her seaweed snacks by her laptop. She’s had one of those days when she got up and had a set of coding ideas and simply needed to get them typed up, which means she’s been working nonstop in her sleepwear. 

And yet, Illyana sees, there’s something not right about the way this particular sleep shirt—the one with thin blue and white cornflowers over thin blue and white stripes, the soft thinned-out cotton one—falls around Kitty. It’s bunched up slightly around her knees, and bunching up more as she climbs the first ladder. Illyana can’t help looking up, and liking what, and who, she sees.

Not now. Poink! She checks the zippers on the backs of her boots—she’s not climbing the ladders barefoot, even if her girlfriend is—and goes up after Kitty.

Poink! The noise repeats itself, and it’s something Illyana should recognize.

“Didn’t Fabio used to live up there?” Illyana asks.

“He did, but he moved. He’s in a double with Benjamin now. That room should be empty. Ow! I think he might be in trouble. We need to investigate.”

Poink! And now it’s clear what’s making the sound: goldballs, the kind that come from Goldballs, fall down the space between the floors, a few at a time, and then roll away or (as they do on impact, sometimes) disappear. One strikes Kitty on the head; she phases and the next two pass through her to strike Illyana, who’s climbing up below.

“Some help you are,” Illyana says, teasing Kitty.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Kitty says, truthfully, leaning off the ladder to catch a falling ball in her hand. Since they’re rolling at only the speed determined by gravity, not the high speed with which they leave Fabio’s body, they’re a nuisance, not a threat. But they’re coming, like pinballs. But bigger. And gold.

Illyana climbs up underneath as Kitty leans sideways. They’re on the same ladder. 

“Oh,” she says. Kitty’s wearing nothing except that sleep shirt, which means that Illyana can see everything from below.

Kitty shifts positions so that one foot is two rungs higher than the other, and Illyana can certainly see absolutely everything. Tender angles. Curly hair.

“You know,” Illyana says, “how you can see the same thing over and over, at different points in your life, and if you’re in the right mood the same thing you see is still utterly captivating, compelling, makes you want to pull your girlfriend off a ladder and carry her away to the nearest soft horizontal surface and rip off the only item of clothing she seems to be wearing?”

“I think I do know something about that,” says Kitty. “What do you want to do about it right now?”

Illyana hums and takes one hand off the ladder and places it right on Kitty’s inner thigh, and they stop climbing for a moment, and Kitty says “I like your moves.” She arches one eyebrow and shakes a leg awkwardly and continues.

“Will you put your hand right there again,” Kitty asks, “when we’ve got some more privacy? But, you know, first we deal with the gold balls.”

Illyana nods.

Kitty and Illyana take the last few rungs, Kitty first, and Kitty’s head reaches the top room, the one where Goldballs used to live. It’s empty bar his abandoned bedroll (his new room has a proper bed), a pile of leftover gold balls in the corner from when he lived there and emitted balls in his sleep, and a kind of mechanical levers-and-pulleys device attached to a TV remote control: when activated, the device scoops up a few gold balls at a time and rolls them into the ladder opening.

Does Kitty’s necklace have, besides a Jewish star, a tiny switch, the kind that could activate a remote control?

“Kitty?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Did you…. rig up the goldballs to fall on us on purpose?”

“I may have done that, yes.”

“In order to give yourself an excuse to climb a ladder, so I would climb up after you?”

“Perhaps.”

“While you had nothing on underneath that lovely sleep shirt.”

“That is, also, correct.”

“My girlfriend’s idea of flirting involves dropping small hard objects on both our heads via a piece of original mechanical engineering.”

“That does seem to be the case. Put your hand back there now, if you’re ready.”

“Really?”

“There’s a bedroll right here.”

“How forward of you,” Illyana teases. “And you claim to be the master of the gold balls.”

“I have made no such claim. Until now.”

“Close your eyes.” And Kitty closes them, and Illyana reaches into her leather backpack—a pack that’s suspiciously small on the outside, given all the objects it seems to hold—and she says “I brought my dragon.”

“Do you mean Lockheed? Oh—you brought your dragon. Your,” and Kitty adds scare quotes, “dragon.”

It is, of course, a strap on, firm and commanding. By the time Kitty’s eyes are open Illyana’s got everything worked out, her boots back on, the “dragon”—dark purple, no color found in nature—firmly in place. Kitty is on her knees.

“That’s what you get when you drop balls on my head and bring me to a secluded place,” Illyana says.

“Maybe that’s what I want.” And Kitty pretends to swoon. “Am I stil the master of the gold balls?”

“No,” Illyana says. “I am.” And she rubs adhesive—it glows red; perhaps it’s magic adhesive?—between her palms and then on to the underside of her “dragon” and its harness and then on two golden balls, and places them near the base of the dragon, one on each side.

Illyana tickles her girlfriend lightly until she flexes her legs and leaves them spread, happily leaning backwards, as far back as she can go. They kiss and then separate and Kitty says “Showing you everything makes me want you to take me.” She stretches out "take me" like she's quoting.

“Aren’t you the forward one.”

“Because I know you’re behind me.”

The straps shift as Illyana settles in. She smiles and her eyes glow, red-gold. Kitty smiles and leaves her lips slightly open, waiting for a kiss. and Illyana swaggers a little with her dragon and her dragon’s balls.

“You know how people say you can’t be super turned-on when you’re also laughing inside?” Kitty asks, regarding the dragon’s hoard. Illyana nods.

“Those people are wrong. So wrong.” And Kitty flops back over onto the unrolled bedroll, beckoning Illyana to come take her, take her swiftly and strongly, take her while she’s newly soaking wet, leaning over to give her kisses but not too many, with Kitty’s legs spread to receive the naughty dragon—stroke after stroke after stroke—and to feel, against her inner thighs, with pleasure, both the gold, gold balls.

**Author's Note:**

> The queer-fronted metal band Illyana played for Kitty is Halestorm (not Hailstorm). And they really are that good.


End file.
